


Amalgamāre

by MagitekUnit05953234



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chronic Pain, Depression, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Fix-It of Sorts, Lore fuckery, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The gods are bastards - Freeform, but not really, discussions of, polyship roadtrip is endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234/pseuds/MagitekUnit05953234
Summary: “Do you think it will always be like this?” Noctis had asked.“Would you mind if it were?” Ignis replied, his braces glinting in the watery moonlight drifting in from the gaps in the curtains.“I don’t know,” Noctis said. He stared at the empty mug on his bedside table. “This part isn’t so bad.”Ignis didn’t reply for a moment. If it weren’t for the way he was still tense against Noct’s side, Noctis could have almost believed that Ignis had fallen asleep.“No,” Ignis whispered finally. The break in the quiet was less a disturbance and more a relief. “No, it isn’t.”





	Amalgamāre

Noctis has never told anyone about how he experiences his magic. Not his dad, not Ignis, not anyone. Supposedly, it’s deeply personal and different for every Lucis Caelum and in those few magic-focused training sessions where Noctis’s dad actually showed up he impressed that Noct was under no obligation to share what it’s like. 

So. 

No one knows except Noctis. He likes it that way. He knows that many old kings who loaned out their power described it as having a weapons rack in a corner of their consciousness, with the weapons being the people who were gifted the power of Lucis.  Noctis hates the thought of it— of reducing trusted friends to nothing but a blade in the hand. 

When Noctis closes his eyes, he sees threads. Thin little things, like embroidery floss, but stronger than steel and brighter than the sun. When he’s alone at night, curled under blankets and among pillows in the dark, he closes his eyes and runs his fingers along them wondering if his friends can feel it too. If they can feel the spark down their spine as Noct touches the connection between their souls. He doesn’t think they can, but he likes to think they know he’s thinking of them somehow. 

Ignis was Noctis’s first Swordsworn. It should have been Gladio, considering that he was the first to formally enter Noctis’s retinue by merit of age alone, but Noct was never good at following rules. When he was twelve, fresh out of a rare magic lesson with his father and laying on the bathroom floor, hissing his breaths out through his teeth, Ignis found him and kneeled at his side. Asked gently about whether he had taken his pain medication that day, whether he had worn his brace, whether he had done his stretches. When Noctis reluctantly admitted that he had done none of it, expecting reprimand from Ignis who seemed so much like an adult at fourteen, Ignis simply helped him off the floor and plied him with his medication and a heating pad and a cup of hot chocolate. They sat together, Noctis in bed and Ignis sitting primly on the end of it. After a while of drifting between sleep and consciousness under Ignis’s attentive eye, Noct reached out and asked him to come sit at the head of the bed. Ignis, for once, made no argument. He simply walked around the end of the bed, removed his shoes, and laid down beside Noctis on top of the covers.

“Do you think it will always be like this?” Noctis had asked.

“Would you mind if it were?” Ignis replied, his braces glinting in the watery moonlight drifting in from the gaps in the curtains.

“I don’t know,” Noctis said. He stared at the empty mug on his bedside table. “This part isn’t so bad.”   
Ignis didn’t reply for a moment. If it weren’t for the way he was still tense against Noct’s side, Noctis could have almost believed that Ignis had fallen asleep.

“No,” Ignis whispered finally. The break in the quiet was less a disturbance and more a relief. “No, it isn’t.”

Noctis lifted one hand up from under the covers. An offering, tentative but not unprecedented. He and Ignis used to fall asleep just like this quite often when they were even younger than they were then, back when Noctis was confined to a wheelchair every day instead of just on the bad days, and he was about ready to crawl out of his skin from the loneliness he felt. They would be found by Noct’s morning nurse, holding hands even deep in slumber.

It took a few seconds but Ignis took hold of Noct’s hand all the same and Noctis felt so safe, so sure that Ignis would be a part of his life for forever and a day, that he did it without really thinking about it. He remembered how his dad had described the Swordsvow, the feeling of chipping away a tiny piece of himself and placing it in his Glaive’s hands, and Noctis grasped Ignis’s hand and chiseled away as much of his core that he could manage. Ignis was his only friend, after all. Why wouldn’t Noct give him as much as he could? Even when Ignis was prissy or annoying or tried to make Noct do a lot of things that he didn’t want to, he was someone special.

Ignis gasped, turned to Noctis with eyes wide behind his glasses, and clutched tighter at Noctis’s hand.

When Noct blinked, he could see the thread connecting their souls, and that was enough to quell the loneliness for a little while.

His dad certainly wasn’t happy about it when Ignis’s report got back to him (because of course Ignis reported it), but after the telling off was done he beckoned Noctis around his desk and hugged him. Told him that Ignis was hardly a bad decision for his first Swordsworn. Held Noctis close, just for a moment. Too rare, these days.

That was Noct’s first.

The second was Gladio, when he was newly eighteen and Noct was approaching the middle of his fifteenth year. With them, it was essentially done the right way— granted, with much less ceremony. Gladio was an official Crownsguard by then, sworn in the day after his birthday, and Noct was expected to make Gladio his Swordsworn within the week. Usually there was a set method to that sort of thing, but Noctis was fifteen and wanted nothing more than to avoid another excuse for the royal tailors to stuff him into a suit for an eight hour social gathering with two minutes worth of ceremony thrown in somewhere.

So, when Gladio rose from his kneel in front of Noctis, officially a Shield and a Crownsguard, Noctis clasped Gladio’s hands and decided to make him one more thing too.

At least Noctis didn’t get in trouble that time. It was going to happen anyway, so he got what was essentially a slap to the wrist for disrupting planned celebrations and that was that.

Gladio didn’t seem to mind, certainly. He hated going to formal events just as Noctis did. While usually he could use his position as Shield-in-training to shadow Noctis in an intimidating manner so as to not have to actually interact with other patrons, he would have certainly had to give a speech of some sort had he had to have the Swordsvow as part of the party.

When Noctis went to sleep that night, he watched the threads of his magic dance in the void and knew that he was safe in Gladio’s hands.

Prompto was the only one who Noct sat down and explained everything to himself. He didn’t have the background to know what the Vow meant, and Noctis didn’t feel right going into it without Prompto’s informed understanding of the connection they would forge together.

“So is it like… permanent?” Prompto had asked, staring at the abandoned xbox controller in his lap as if the scratched white plastic could tell him the secrets of the world. “What happens if I die or something? Would it hurt you?”

Noctis should have expected that Prompto would care more about Noctis’s wellbeing than his own but he didn’t. He wasn’t really prepared to answer it properly, but whatever he came up with was enough to satisfy Prompto’s fears. No, it’s not permanent —though the thought of breaking a vowed connection made Noctis want to scream. No, the death of a Swordsworn wouldn’t hurt Noctis through the connection. No, the Swordsvow wasn’t painful for anyone involved. No, Noctis wouldn’t be able to read Prompto’s mind after this.

Well. That last one was a bit of an outlier. It was probably meant to be a joke, but there was just enough of an edge to Prompto’s voice when he asked it that Noctis took it as seriously as the rest.

“You can back out at any point,” Noctis said. He and Prompto were still sitting on the couch with Wyvern Era II’s pause menu dim on the television beyond them. “You don’t have to do this just because you think it’s something I want.”

“No,” Prompto smiled. He held out his right hand, palm up. “I want to. I said I’d be your Crownsguard someday, right? This is just… a promise. Before I can do that.”

Noctis clasped Prompto’s hand in his own, his thumb brushing the edge of Prompto’s green and tan bracelet. “Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

Their eyes met and Noctis tore at the well of magic within him, cutting away the perfect piece of himself to give. Prompto’s grip tightened on Noctis’s hand. Prompto’s lips parted, a surprised gasp escaping him as the Vow solidified between them.

That made three.

Noctis has never told anyone about the threads, and as far as he is concerned he will take the manner of their existence to his grave. There’s something deeply personal about the way his Vows tied him to his Swordsworn instead of offering them up like fish on a platter. Like his magic knew that they were always his equals, and treated them like it instead of treating them as the old kings would. It’s something Noct thinks —and sometimes fears— is unique to him. He’d like to think that his father is the same way, but there’s no way he will ever ask.

“Noctis,” Ignis interrupts Noct’s slumber on the couch with a light tapping on his shoulder. “You’ll have to wake up if you have any hope of sleeping decently tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Noct pushes Ignis’s hand away and yawns. “You said so like an hour ago.”   
“And yet you went back to sleep,” Ignis has turned back toward the windows, but Noct can hear the faint smile in his words.

“You were the one who let me,” Noct stretches his arms above his head, relishing the way his back popped. “You could have woken me up right away, but you didn’t. Face it Specs, you’re going soft on me.”

“I’ve always been soft on you,” Ignis replies offhand. Noctis blinks, and Ignis amends it in seconds. “It is only natural for someone to be kind to the person they have taken care of for years.”

Noct grimaces as he stands, both from the growing ache in his knee and the subversion of what he thought Ignis meant. He should expect it by now, but sometimes he still hopes… 

“Do you think we could go to the aquarium this weekend?” Noct says as he follows Ignis through the apartment, shuffling toward his desk where his textbooks and the accordian folder of recent reports sit. 

“I can certainly acquire a ticket for you as long as you do not have any projects you need the weekend to catch up on.”

“No, like,” Noct slides into his desk chair but doesn’t yet open a book or folder or anything. “I meant that… we could go together?”

Ignis pauses in his vague tidying of another part of the room. “I doubt I will have the time to indulge in such a thing. Thank you, though. Your efforts to include me are appreciated.”

Noctis doesn’t particularly  _ want _ to go without Ignis. There’s a new temporary exhibit up that he knows Ignis would love if he’d actually take a break for once and go see it.

“Are you sure?” Noctis reaches for the report folder and unwinds the thread around the clasp if only to pretend he’s busy. “I think you would like it. If you went with me, I mean.”

Ignis hasn’t moved, but Noct is facing away from him so he can’t see why. 

“I have simply too much to do,” Ignis says. There’s a weird feeling under his words that Noct can’t decipher for anything. “My apologies, Noctis.”

When Noct searches for Ignis in his little web of magic, he finds that Ignis’s thread is pulled taut like a guitar string wound too tight. Noctis wants to touch it, but fears —irrationally— that if he did it would snap. 

Noct leaves it alone. Ignis leaves the room. 

Noctis looks over his reports and wonders what Ignis is so busy with this weekend when his official schedule is empty. 

-FFXV-

“I’m losing my  _ mind _ dude,” Prompto perches himself on the armrest of the couch and drops a leg over Noct’s lap. “Is it so hard to actually tell me what days I’m supposed to work  _ before _ I’m supposed to be working? I am almost certain the employee handbook said we get schedules a week in advance and I can’t keep dropping shifts at Distant Worlds because Kenny’s keeps calling me in.”

“If you didn’t have like five jobs you wouldn’t have this problem,” Noct replies, rolling his head to the side to meet eyes with his boyfriend. “Just quit like three of them. You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t get it,” Prompto slumps over dramatically, slowly sliding off the armrest until his full body weight is resting on Noct. “I gotta make rent  _ and _ save for college. Plus like, groceries and stuff. You ever even  _ been _ to a grocery store?”

“Of course I’ve been to a grocery store,” Noct absolutely doesn’t lie. He’s been at least three times, he thinks. Each one a bit of a forced issue from Ignis but hey, it counts. Plus he’s been in a bunch of convenience stores. How different can it be?

“Yeah well,” Prompto wiggles around, elbowing Noct in the ribs a few times until he finds what must be a comfortable spot on Noct to lay his head. It isn’t exactly comfortable for Noct but he resigns himself to his fate as Prompto closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh. “Stuff’s kinda expensive, especially because I gotta eat more now. Can’t skip meals when I’m in a hurry anymore or else I’ll actually pass out in front of the actual freaking Immortal and then they won’t let me in the Crownguard  and then I'll die.”

“You won’t die. You’re in the ‘Guard whether they like it or not. They’ll have to fight me about it,” Noct says. Then he glances down sharply at Prompto. “How often’d you skip meals? You said you stopped doing that.”

“Oh don’t—” Prompto reddens. “Not like that. I’m just in a hurry in the mornings so I don’t always get breakfast in. Or lunch if I have to run from one job to the other.”

“You're only allowed to have one job now. Royal decree,” Noct announces to the room, bringing as much regalness into his voice as he can muster. “No more shall Prompto Argentum toil in not only a crappy chain diner, but also a crappy chain café and a weird antique shop that I'm almost certain is haunted. From now unto eternity, he shall pick one job. Or even better, just let his boyfriend pick up the tab because he’s already been technically paying his boyfriend money this whole time anyway.”

“What,” Prompto slaps Noct’s bicep lightly. “No I haven't! You never take my money or let me pay when we go out.”

“You pay taxes, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Prompto’s brow furrows. “Is that where your money comes from?”

“Probably,” Noct shrugs. “Hell if I know. Really though. Just see if  _ one _ of your jobs will take you full time or something. You’re gonna burn yourself out one of these days. If you're that worried about letting me pay for shit just pay me back once you’re on Crownsguard payroll. Apparently they make bank or something.”

Prompto fidgets again, this time landing a solid blow to Noct’s kidney. If Noct weren’t so in love he’s pretty sure he’d make the news for strangling one (1) recent high school graduate who never did a thing wrong in his life. “Hey, Noct?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I’m not trying to get into the Crownsguard for the money, right?”

“I know you’re not,” Noct leans to the right and picks up the remote for the TV, dropping it onto Prompto’s chest. “You just wanna be able to make out with me at all times of the day. Which is definitely understandable.”

“That’s not it either—!”

“Hey,” Noct interjects. “It’s your turn to pick something. I did last week.”

Prompto eventually shifts off Noct after their movie night starts up proper, though he never quite leaves Noct’s side. Noct tries his best not to doze off, but he struggles to stay up past midnight as it is. The combination of the dimmed lights and his boyfriend nestled up against him is a comforting enough combination that he begins to drift anyway. 

In the inbetween space occupying the void after unconsciousness but before consciousness, Noctis can see the thread extending from himself to Prompto. He runs his hand along it and it tingles under his fingers like the screen of an old TV just after you turn it off.

“Noct? Hey Noct?”

Noctis is drawn back awake by the back of Prompto’s hand tapping against his cheek. “Wh— yeah?”

The room is still dark and the start menu of their movie is looping on the TV screen, providing the only decent light in the room. Prompto stands over Noct, having extricated himself from the couch while Noctis was still unaware. 

“Movie’s over. I gotta go home,” Prompto grimaces. “I've got work tomorrow morning so I gotta sleep sooner rather than later.”

“What’d you let me sleep for?” Noct grumbles, rubbing at his eyes to try and clear the burn from them. 

“Seemed like you needed it,” Prompto smiles and Noct forgets what breathing is for second. “We can watch the movie again next time if you want… since you missed it and all. I don't mind.”

Noct yawns and asks Prompto for the time. Upon learning that it's after midnight and Prompto plans on  _ walking _ home since the busses don't run so close to the Citadel this late, Noct immediately tells Prompto to just stay the night at the apartment. 

“I don't think Ignis would like it,” Prompto points out. He’s not wrong.

“He didn't mind for the last four years,” Noctis retorts. He’s not entirely incorrect to his credit, just  _ mostly _ incorrect. 

“That was  _ before _ we were dating, Noct! Now it's different.”

“He doesn’t know, so it’s fine.”

Ignis definitely does know by morning after going to wake Noctis up and finding one more person than he expected —in far less clothes than he was prepared for— in Noctis’s bed. Prompto didn't stop apologizing the entire time it took for him to get ready for work and get out the door. 

“You’re not going to tattle on me to my dad, will you?” Noct mumbles into his eggs after Prompto departs. 

“As long as you are discrete, he won’t know,” Ignis sits down at the table with his own plate in hand. “Though I doubt he would mind. He wants you to be happy while you can, Noctis.”

It sounds like there’s something he’s not saying.

“Sure,” Noct says. He tucks into his food. “Thanks, Iggy.”

“It is my pleasure Noctis,” Ignis dips his head before beginning his own breakfast. “Always.”

-FFXV-

The world doesn’t feel any different. It should, Noctis thinks. It should be  _ different _ . It should be  _ chaos _ . The ground should be boiling with magma and miasma, the mountains should be crumbling into the ocean, the sky should be falling from the heights. 

None of it is. The night is mild, the breeze still smells of the last two days’ rain, and the moon shines big and bright in the star-speckled cloudy night. Everything is calm and so  _ so _ ordinary. 

The camp chair creaks as Noctis fidgets, the hinges groaning at the shift in weight. Noctis locks his phone and turns his head up to look at the sky. As he stares up into the abyss be wonders just how similar clouds look to smoke. Did the sky look like this to all those people in the capital after the Wall fell? How many people died with that sky as their last sight?

Ignis and Prompto are chatting quietly by the cooking station. The two of them tag-teamed dinner with what groceries Gladio managed to pick up from the Prairie Outpost and dishes after that. Why they’re still both at the station is a mystery to Noct, but just watching them interact is nice. Prompto used to be intimidated to death by both Ignis  _ and _ Gladio, but he’s really settled in with them and it feels nice. Noctis loves that the people he loves most love each other as well. As fucked up as this world is, they have something great going. That means something, Noct thinks— to have a bond like that with his friends. 

When he closes his eyes, the ties between himself and the others are flame-bright and stronger than steel. It’s comforting to know that, despite what his wildly imbalanced brain chemistry may try to convince him, his friends really are here for him no matter what. 

Prompto glances back at Noct absently during his conversation with Ignis. He flashes a grin, a little wobbly but still true, and gives Noct a small wave when they catch each other’s eye. 

Gods, Noct loves his boyfriend. 

Noctis turns his attention to the far side of the campground. It isn’t often that he sees Gladio completely idle, without even a book in hand to occupy himself. Gladio is completely idle now. From this angle, Noct can’t see if his eyes are even open, but it looks like Gladio’s just gazing out into the dark. 

Noct swallows thickly and levers himself up out of his chair. His leg is still a little rough after the fighting to get back to Insomnia and the rain and everything else, and his knee clicks each time it bends. 

“You don’t have your brace on,” Gladio says when Noct’s a meter away. 

“Yeah,” Noct says.

He waits for the usual reprimand.

It doesn’t come. 

He sits down next to Gladio. 

They watch a group of imps emerge from the soil in silence. 

“I’m,” Noct starts. It comes out a little strangled. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

Gladio turns his head. The chain of his usual necklace clinks against a skull charm nestled in his collarbone. 

When did Ignis give Gladio his necklace?

“Did you kill him?” Gladio’s voice rumbles out from his chest, quiet but still somehow gripping Noctis by the throat. 

An flash of guilt arcs through Noct, biting at the lining of his lungs.  _ Did he _ ? Was Clarus’s death on Noct’s shoulders? Was Insomnia’s? The city fell for his life, after all. He may have not been the bullet or blade that felled Gladio’s father, but in the end isn’t it all the same?

“No,” Gladio answers himself. His amber eyes dart across Noct’s face, and Noct feels overexposed somehow. “So don’t apologize. He took pride in what he did. In being the King’s Shield. There was always a chance this would happen.”

“There shouldn’t have been— a chance, I mean. He shouldn’t have had to do that. To have to stand in the way.”

For a minute, Noct is afraid Gladio might start yelling. His jaw sets, his hands curl against the stone of the haven. Noct has, essentially, just spit on the legacy of a line of Shields by implying that their duty wasn’t  _ necessary _ . 

Then, Gladio relaxes. He shakes his head, and that little skull charm swings lightly. “If you hate it so much, change it when you take the throne back. Just don’t expect me to stop protecting your sorry ass, duty or not.”

Noct blinks. Gladio’s always lived and breathed the Amicitia way, the title of Shield both a yoke and a point of pride. For him to easily let that go is… unexpected. “You don’t mean that.”

“‘Course I mean it,” Gladio slaps his open palm against the haven floor once, twice. “Titles don’t mean anything at the end of the day. What matters is who you are what what you do with what you have. I won’t change if you decide I’m not a Shield anymore. My dad wouldn’t have if yours did, either. We make our choice every day to be what we are, and no amount of wishing will change that. My dad made his choice, and it’s up to us to respect that by beating the Empire to hell and back. That’s all it takes.”

“Right,” Noct takes a breath. “So… you gonna be okay?”

“Give us all some time and a few more MT drops to cut through and I think we’ll be alright,” Gladio shrugs. “Just focus on what you need to make it through and the rest will work out.”

Noct turns his head toward the clack of boot heels on the stone behind him. “Hey, Specs.”

“Highness,” Ignis comes to a stop at Gladio’s back. His gloved hand comes to a natural rest on Gladio’s right shoulder. “Gladio. If you wouldn’t mind joining us?”

While Noct had been talking to Gladio, Prompto and Ignis had unearthed a few bags of marshmallows and a bottle of Baileys from the armiger. Prompto now rocks on his heels by the fire with the bottle at his feet, the bags in one hand, and their set of toasting forks in the other. “Ready to make an absolute mess?”

The world doesn’t seem so terrible when Noct’s got his fill of whiskey-dipped roasted marshmallows. He’s laid his head on Prompto’s shoulder, and Ignis is across the fire leaning into Gladio’s side (and Noctis is just  _ now _ beginning to realize there’s something there that he definitely should have seen before they started swapping accessories), and it’s pretty easy to ignore the daemons just outside the haven’s light when the moon shines so bright. 

It isn’t so cloudy anymore. Noct likes that.

-FFXV-

“ _ Ignis _ !” Noctis rushes forward, his heart pounding in his chest, Prompto and Gladio at his heels. He runs and Ignis is  _ there _ and gods, he isn’t moving fast enough. 

Noctis doesn’t have to think about pulling his sword from the void and warping to Ignis's side— he just does it. Noct has a few meters left to go once his feet hit the floor, and he crosses the distance as if his own life was on the line. 

Ignis is breathing. He’s alive. He’s breathing. 

“N-oct?” Ignis’s voice is low, and breaks in the middle. The light catches on his burns, the terrible grey-purple wounds tearing across his eyes and chest and hands. His breathing is labored. Noctis can’t think. He can’t move. He can't do anything. 

“But… how?” Ignis manages. He isn’t looking at Noctis. Noct doesn’t even know if he can see. He doesn't think he can. 

“Ravus,” Prompto fills in the silence. “He lent us a hand, if you can believe it.”

Gladio makes a choked noise, and Noctis wishes to be the one burning burning burning… “What the hell were you  _ thinking _ ?!”

Prompto bursts into tears. Though his sobs, he bites out: “How could we let this happen?”

Noctis shakes his head. Blinks back the burn in his own eyes. “How could  _ I _ let this happen? This is all my fault.”

Ignis’s breath hitches. halfway between worship and protest he whispers “Noct…”

“If I’m really some kind of savior,” even now Noctis feels the pull of the damned Crystal in the next chamber. “Then why can’t I save the ones I love?”

This shouldn’t be happening. Somewhere along the line something terrible happened and everything got knocked off track. Now Luna is grievously injured in Altissia, in a coma in some damned hospital bed, and Ignis is  _ dying _ and Noctis doesn’t know what to  _ do _ , but he has to do something. This is wrong and be has to  _ fix it _ . “I’m sorry,” Noctis says, because it has to be said. “You guys have stayed with me all this time and all it’s done is cause you pain. Not anymore. All that ends now.”

Noctis reaches out, takes Ignis’s burned hand in his own two. He slips the cursed Ring off Ignis, Ignis who is dying right here in front of him on the floor of an Imperial keep, and braces himself for the pain as he puts it on. 

It’s like being electrocuted. It’s like being impaled. It’s like summoning every god at once and telling them to hit him with their best shot. It’s worse than the Marilith, it’s worse than the physical therapy, it’s worse than the pain Noct has been living with in his leg and spine for more than a decade. It’s worse, and he shakes and still, still he gathers Ignis into his arms, presses a hand to Ignis’s chest just to feel his pounding heart. Noctis stretches the other hand to the Crystal, the Ring glinting on his finger. He calls to the magic he feels pulsing from the Crystal, the raw energy that he doesn’t know how to use but that he was born to channel. If anything can save Ignis, it is this. The Crystal is the seat of all Lucian magic, even that of the Lucii that have destroyed Ignis inside and out. If anything can fix him, it is this. “Please! Lend me your strength! Help me protect my friends!”

The Crystal pulses. 

Nothing happens.

“Please!” Noct calls to anyone. The Crystal, Bahamut, any god out there who might  _ care _ . “Please! As the Chosen King, I beseech you!”

The Crystal pulses. 

Nothing happens. 

“ _ Help me _ !”

The Crystal pulses. 

Nothing happens. 

Ignis’s hand, ashy and trembling, brushes Noct’s face. He looks back down to Ignis’s tear streaked cheeks and unfocused eyes, and can’t stop the tears from flowing from his own eyes.  “Noctis…”

“Yeah?” Noct pulls Ignis closer, curling his shoulders over Ignis’s broken form. “I’m here. I’m here, Iggy.”

Ignis coughs, a terrible wheezing, rattling thing. He ends the fit much more limp than he had been before. “I wanted to… thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t,” Noctis bows his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t— please don’t,  _ Ignis _ —”

Ignis’s mouth works, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t quite make it. His eyes, burned to blindness, are fluttering closed more and more. His breaths are slowing. 

Noctis can’t lose him. Noctis  _ can’t _ lose Ignis. He  _ can’t _ . A world without Ignis is unthinkable. Unbearable. He can’t do this he just can’t there’s no way to fix this and Ignis is going to die and it’s all Noct’s fault and the gods don’t care and Ignis is  _ dying _ —

Noctis closes his eyes. The connection between himself and Ignis, that thread that has always been so strong, is flickering. Fading, on Ignis’s end. A connection between souls is nothing when one soul has left this world. 

Noctis can't let that happen. He won’t. 

He takes hold of the thread and  _ pulls _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, consider following me on tumblr @magitekunit05953234 or on twitter @compromisedunit !  
> More to come ;)


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